visitors in Istanbul

It was weeks, even months, in advance that I was anticipating not just my father coming to see me in Turkey but getting to spend a few days in Istanbul. As you may know, Istanbul is the first place with which I ever experienced love at first sight. It has been inside me ever since I first moved there back in 2007. Ah, what a place, what a phenomenon of architecture, culture, and life.

When I think of Istanbul I see the blue of the Bosphorous Strait underlying buildings that seem to be piled on top of one another while huge and powerful mosques with minarets that charge into the sky stake claim over the city. Diving into the city, the markets and the life in the middle of it all is the real fun.

Levent and I arrived at the Istanbul airport in the morning. As we were hungry and there were still hours before my Dad would arrive, we took the subway to Atakoy. This is a neighborhood on the outskirts crowded with shops, restaurants and businesses and lacking in personality. When you go there you wonder why anyone chooses to live there when the water is so close. Then you remember that there is only so much room, and prices go up the deeper in you go.

When my Dad and Karen finally arrived we took them to the hotel in the Taksim area. Here we walked down Istiklal, the most popular street and therefore the most packed on a Saturday night. The sight of it all was actually magnified by one hundred as this particular night was the night of the championship football match between two rival teams both located in Istanbul. A huge mob of Galatasaray fans filled the narrow streets with bodies, flares, and cheers. We could barely hear each other talk, but we did manage to make out the cries of "Eat my Cock, Fener!" (Fener being the rival team) roared by the crowd. Is there any street you can stand on in the United States of America and hear hundreds of people shouting, "Eat my Cock?" No shame. Welcome to Istanbul, Dad. :)

The next day we spent in Sultanahmet running from sight to sight as I tried to recall as much as I could from the guide that I wrote. Stray facts came in here and there aside from the ones any true Istanbullu already knows. I actually do truly love this touristy side of Istanbul because all the mosques, museums, etc. are so beautiful, but what I do not love are the tourists. Imagine that I had that whole area to explore with no other person around, just me and my Istanbul. Sadly, that will never happen. We waited in lines, bought tickets, and followed other tourists around to see this sculpture and that piece of architecture. "Blown away, I am blown away," came the comment from one man behind us. Yes, yes, I wish you would be.

The next day had us walking through the Asian side stopping to sit and sip Turkish coffee and later stopping to sit and sip Turkish beer. Eat, walk, and drink was our theme.

Our final day was another tourist attraction which I had not yet seen, but it definitely put the icing on the cake for me. We waited for an hour or so in line at Dolmabahce Palace. Then, we rushed in to tour the museum during our allotted time. This place is so busy that you have to get in in shifts. It would never fit the amount of people per day who want to see it. The Ottoman furniture and art was amazing. Each room seemed to have its own pattern - dark blue in the bedroom, a blood red in that sitting room, elaborate chandeliers, paintings of farms and fields, Turkish baths with turquoise tiles covering the walls. I am so glad I finally went to see that place, but after that I was ready to call it a day, perhaps even a year.

I remember when Krisia visited Istanbul after having moved to Denmark, and she told me that Istanbul had lost its magic for her. She could no longer feel it, like being too old to enter Narnia again. At that time I could not feel what she meant, but I am starting to do so now. As much as I love the city, I am quite happy to love it from a distance...

that feeling

You know that feeling you get when something truly amazing is happening to you, while doing something incredible and life-changing? You know that feeling you get when that totally awesome thing is over? It was just so cool, and now you are left with a big gaping hole. Some people experience this after the birth of a baby, after a travel experience, or after a certain step on the educational ladder is complete. Right now I, too, am feeling this way, and it is because of a book. Is this common among avid readers like myself?

So far there have been three series of books I recall as having enveloped me, completely engulfed my mind and body as I read them and even afterward - the Harry Potter series, the Twilight series, and now The Hunger Games. I've finished Harry Potter and Twilight, but I'm currently in the middle of The Hunger Games one.

I have tried to identify exactly what it is about these that have captured me and toyed with my mental stability. Since I am only on book 2 of the Hunger Games, I'll focus on the first book for this analysis.

As I look back on the three of them, I no longer regard Twilight with the same respect I did when I was in the middle of reading it. In fact, I have recently been heard to use words such as "ridiculous" and "lame" while describing it. However, all three series have nonetheless gotten under my skin at some point, and so they all deserve a thorough investigation. All three include factors that we might consider addictive and consuming to the reader - adventure, danger, love, and passion. After further thought I have determined the two ingredients which hook me and drag me under. I wonder if others might say the same. The first is the type of adventure that comes from the constant threat of death and peril. When you know that the main character (and therefore you) is never totally safe, you can not help but stress, can not help but continue on the journey just to find out what is around that approaching corner or up that next tree.
In contrast, when I was reading Homer's The Iliad, I would look down at the page number and find that ten minutes later the very same number was still staring me in the face. With Harry Potter and The Hunger Games, I would suddenly glance to the bottom of the page to find I had already jumped ahead forty pages. Amazing. The Iliad had me counting down pages until the chapter ended whereas The Hunger Games has me wishing I was able to slow down because I never want the adventure to end. (Not that I didn't enjoy The Iliad, I just wanted to point out the difference in genres)

Anyway, the second characteristic that has me sweating, biting my nails, and obsessing is the love aspect. I am not talking about normal, sweet, everyday married couple love and companionship. I am talking about impossible, brutal, heartbreaking, passionate, this-moment-could-very-well-be-our-last love. Perhaps this "love" really only exists in stories or in extremely tragic cases, a "love" that has no chance of survival but during its existence is so powerful that it consumes and becomes you. This would really just be exhausting, but in the story it feels like a drug you are just dying to try. This is something shared in both Twilight and, I felt, The Hunger Games as well. I am not sure if this is just my perspective or if other people felt this, too. If so, were these other people also female?

Anyway, the combination of constant danger and unrestrained passion is so intense that it begins carrying over into one's daily routine. For example, a dream about The Hunger Games last night woke me up and kept me up for an hour. Is there anyone else out there who knows what I mean? Somehow real life is temporarily dulled by the intensity of the story, or am I just crazy?

Perhaps the four books of Twilight went on for too long to keep it up, and that is why today's memory is not so fond. Will I feel this way about The Hunger Games some time after finishing? Or am I diving into all of it way to deep?

Either way, bravo, Suzanne Collins, bravo.

Saturday evening concert

Yes, I am in my late twenties, which is generally concerned "young," or at least it is among my own circle. However, I do have to admit that I find myself lying in bed with the lights out much earlier than most twenty-year-old girls, even on the weekends. So when this Saturday night had me out at a concert, I had lots of extra time for contemplation and questioning.

Ok, so it is not that exciting of a concert. We attended the concert of the school where Levent gives lessons to children and teenagers. Since I only played piano for two years as a child and took lessons not from a school but from the elderly lady across the street it did not really bring back any childhood memories for me. Still, I sort of had to be there and therefore had to pass judgment.

The performance had a list of twenty or so names followed by the song each would be (making an attempt at) playing. "Hey, wait, Stephanie, maybe you are not in the position to pass judgment," I thought. Then, I thought again that I was in the back row of a theater crowded with children and my bedtime was fast approaching. I usually try to avoid children as much as possible on weekends since they occupy a lot of my time on weekdays. The grumpy old lady in me stuck her nose out. I looked at the list of names prepared to mentally check off each one as they struggled to get from A sharp to middle C. Here we go.

Of course we started off with the small children who could barely reach the keyboard, let alone tap a key. Still, they got by on being incredibly cute. "Aawwww," we said in unison clapping our hands excitedly, "Look at his little bow tie. That wasn't all that bad."

Luckily, the talent level of the performers rose slightly as we got further through the list. We clapped as each child came up to the piano and took an awkward bow toward her or his teacher rather than at the audience. This continued on as I slowly fell into a trance brought on by my body's awareness of its biological need to be horizontal and the classical music.

There were three performers, however, whom I found very intriguing.
After about seventeen children had been up, taken a bow, played their song, took another bow and sat down, a man walked up on stage with his notebook in hand. His hair was slightly graying, and he wore glasses and a flannel shirt. "What is this guy doing?" ran through most every mind in the audience probably, but he, too, took his awkward bow, sat down and opened his notebook to a minuet. (I know it was a minuet because I happen to be practicing this very same piece at home nowadays.) He sat down, began, and except for about three bars where he seemed confident, struggled through the whole thing. At first, I wanted to laugh at him, but only for a moment. After that, I wanted to cry for him. Lastly, I felt proud of him, inspired by him even. Here is a funny man probably knowing that he looks silly grappling with his song amongst children but doing it anyway. Maybe he just wanted a chance to perform. I have to admit that I, too, wanted to go down and attempt a piece for everyone even though the presence of a large crowd is quite nerve-wracking. The man did not laugh at himself or show any sign that he felt silly up there among a group of children. He was simply a student of piano performing a piece. I don't know why but even now a sadness comes over me for it. Perhaps it is a sadness for late-bloomers or for people who say they are too old to start something new. Quite a few of the children were better than him, but on he played, this music man.

The second to last performance was by a girl who appeared to be around sixteen years old, and it was incredible. She was accompanied to the stage by a very serious and intelligent looking teacher with glasses baring thick black frames. He moved with a grace that resonated supremacy and demanded respect even if you did not know him, who he was or what he did. I looked down to see the student's name accompanied by five songs, two of which were Bach and Beethoven. She struck the keys and her fingers glided over them so smoothly, so effortlessly, as if they were made only to play classical piano. She stared at her sheet music, and her hands and arms were in constant motion for what seemed like hours, never breaking, never giving in or asking for a rest. For the final piece, she played together with the teacher who then revealed the reason for his supreme mannerisms. Four hands rolled over the keys with the ease of tides on the shore. This girl was the Marla Hooch of piano players. I say this for two reasons, one being her incredible talent. The second reason was that for some reason I did not see her face, as if every time I looked at her she was purposefully keeping it covered. Even when I saw her outside after the concert she walked on never turning her head or making eye contact with anyone. Levent complimented her, and still she did nothing but walk a straight line out to the parking lot. Strange.

Unfortunately, the final performance, which should have been the best if it had followed suit with the list, was absolutely not. A young girl of about twelve or thirteen came on stage alone. The playbill read "Whitney Houston: I Have Nothing." Wow, I thought, this girl must have on amazing voice or we are about to witness a crime taking place. Levent turned to me and said, "I heard her singing earlier. It's not going to be pretty." Yes, this little girl had been pushed into attempting Whitney, hard enough as it is when it is your first language, let alone a language you don't know. Her voice was all over the place, basically as if I had been singing it. I wanted to throw things at her teacher. Whether that girl had been forced into Whitney or chosen and been allowed to do it, I do not know, but it was not a good move. I still get chills thinking about how we all still had to clap for her even though every person in the room, including the little girl, knew it was awful.

Anyway, just before I could say good-bye to this all, I had to listen to a performance by a few of the teachers, Levent included. What song did they choose to do? Well, if you know anything about Turkish people's preference for English music, you know that Sting is some kind of god. Stink, I mean, Sting, oops, typo, makes most of us want to puke, but I suddenly wished for tone deaf Whitney as I sat through this guy's rendition of I'll Be Watching You. Damn stalkers. The singer even tried to mix it up and perhaps improve it with his own vocals, but I guess he didn't realize that is impossible. I wanted to stand up and boo, but I was too tired and unfortunately have good self-control.

What will this crazy old girl get into next Saturday night? Only time will tell.

someone else's loss

I walked into work yesterday morning only to be hit in the face with terrible news. A co-worker's younger brother had been killed in a car accident over the weekend. Needless to say she did not come in to work, but despite her physical absence the tragedy stayed with me all day long. I could not stop thinking of her, of death, of life, of what is and what is not. I came home and began writing in my journal...

I didn't lose anyone today. I didn't lose anyone that I have not said good-bye to already. Yet today someone else lost someone. I didn't know him. I didn't know her. Perhaps I know a relative, a friend of a friend, a person whom I pass in the street on occasion, a person I met once and promptly forgot about. It doesn't change the amount of pain and torment in the world. I suspect that the hurt and suffering on our planet is like water. Although it may change state and location, it never dissipates. On it moves from here to there, him to her, you to me. Today it is not my pain, but some other day it will be. Though we shift to avoid the transfer, its liquid seeps through, drips on your head, soaks your skin.

When you look at a photograph of a person who is still living you can feel the smile. You know it is possible that she is grinning in just the same way at that moment. You know that he might be just as happy about his present as he appears to be in that past. That smile, that expression is full, real, part of an essential creature of Earth.

When you look at a photograph of one long passed, it is history. You see no life, no feelings, almost as if that individual never existed, and it never mattered. It is as if the person were one dreamt up and drawn on paper by an artist. She bears no personality and no unique characteristics other than those your mind imposes upon her. You are looking at a figment of an imagination - a leprechaun, a troll, a fairy, an elf.

However, if the pain today is yours, and it is your being who was suddenly robbed of life by an untimely death then there is a great difference. Perhaps you are walking through your newly fragmented home. You happen to glance at a picture of the deceased. What then do you realize? You have full awareness that the person in that photograph is nowhere smiling and is not anywhere enjoying a happiness like the one in the picture. What now, who now is the individual looking back? He is no longer warm skin, a deep voice, a humorous personality. You shall not touch his skin, listen to his voice, or relish in his jokes. He is now a prisoner of your mind, to be manipulated by you into memory, your memory and memories. Is there any comfort to be found in this knowledge? A death is a death of many words, expressions, and actions. Will there ever be a time when you can look at the untimely dead and take solace in that same picture? Will you ever not say, "He should be here with me now."? What happens to that love shared between you when he is no longer around to hold up his piece?

If you try to carry it yourself, it may bring you down. If you let it go completely you risk neglect and vacancy. Perhaps all you can do is ask someone to help keep you standing while you attempt to take the weight of it all, compress it and turn it into an heirloom to pass onto yourself with each coming year. One day that heirloom may begin to lighten, or perhaps it won't.

I do not know, for today it is not my pain.

an afternoon with aliens

When I think about people being born in the year 2000 or more recently it is just incomprehensible. Any person whose birthday year contains two or more zeros has got to be either over 100 or an alien of some kind. We should not have yet made first contact.

I suppose I am somewhat of a "woman in black" in this case, however, because I, in fact, have had plenty (too much perhaps) interaction with these foreign beings. The year 2008 has brought me a total of eighteen little martians. I know what you are thinking. "Wow, Stephanie, no way! What are these creatures like? Are they anything like humans? What do they eat? Do they talk?"

Well, I am here today to answer your questions.

These martians are actually not like creatures of the planet Earth at all. They pack massive amounts of volume, bodily fluid, and deviousness into quite small body structures. In fact, one excretion from their nostrils is enough to stun every single other creature in the room. What power this is, I do not know.
The incredibly high decibels of their voices bring the largest human beings to their knees in pain (the writer included), and send mothers and fathers to various toy stores with credit cards waving.
Furthermore, their cunning is uncanny. A mere sticker or piece of candy sends them negotiating affairs from one ally to the next without any thought of previous affiliations. However, a second sticker or piece of candy has them immediately switching sides again. Each one carefully strategizes which prize to tempt her or his enemies with next. The room becomes a playing field where chewing gum and Spiderman figurines are the currency, and no one is afraid of a little violence.

While observing the martians during a period of free movement, one can see their tiny eyes scheming over which territory to claim and from whom to gather aid.
If Martian D tells Martian I that Martian M rudely invaded D's territory with an encroaching foot Martian I will surely become a necessary ally in the overtaking of Planet Classroom.

I believe the second question concerned their feeding habits. The most beloved sustenance of these martians is anything containing large amounts of sugar. It is, in fact, also their downfall. They will do most anything, even sit in one place for an entire minute, if the thought of a piece of chocolate or other sweet enters their brains. They also rely heavily on changing their diet daily. If on Monday they eat an entire bowl of pasta, the next day they will refuse the same dish. I suspect it has something to do with their constant strategizing. Most do not touch vegetables nor anything else on a plate containing a miniscule segment of a vegetable. I have therefore been forced to threaten the withdrawal of certain strawberry chewing gum and happy face stickers for those martians who do not consume greens. It is an ongoing struggle.

The final question discussed their speech ability. In fact, these aliens do have the ability to verbalize but most often lack the capacity to hear the words being spoken to them. When Martian E says, "I want water," he does not hear the sentence immediately returned, "Then, wait your turn," but insists on standing in front of the water-giver while beating her in the stomach with the cup saying "By the way, I don't want this pink cup. I LIKE BLUE!!!" Perhaps because the aliens are so small, their is a problem with the proportions of their inner ear organs. It is also possible that what I perceive to be ears may just be a layer of skin having no use other than aesthetic.

Martians may deceive you by attempting to be innocently "cute," but do not be fooled for it is a mere ploy in their war games. When a martian wins a human adult to their side, it is as feared by the others as the A-bomb itself. If you are a human adult, do not choose to side with one martian or it will have you fighting its battles from then on.

To sum up, if you do encounter one of these small aliens I have some advice for you. First, have tissues on hand in case of emergency. Second, do not consume a product containing sugar within its range of vision. Third, immediately turn and walk in a different direction leaving a pile of vegetables behind you as a deterrent.

Good luck.

K and T

Today and tomorrow are the birth days of two friends of mine. They are both of different sexes and different parts of the globe. One is short, one is tall. One is balding, the other has dreadlocks. I supposed you might say they are at opposite ends of certain spectrums. However, at one time in my life they were both my best friends. We laughed our way right through every corner of Istanbul.

Today they have inspired me because of what they have in common, what we all really have in common - a search for love. Her travels brought her to Europe and Israel. His travels took him to Southeast Asia and back to Europe. Both of them were in fact very honest about what they were searching for - a partner, a family.
I, on the other hand, would never have admitted (not even to myself) that I was looking for the same things. Yes, my travels have been about love of personalities, of culture, of food, etc., but I would never tell you, not even now as a happily married woman, that I set out on a quest in search of a person who would share this world with me.

Anyway, I would like to commend both of my friends on their honesty. At this point in their lives, one is happily married with a baby and the other is single and looking.
My real question is, "Are we all just looking for love?" "Are we simply trying to obtain and retain our parents' love, our siblings' love, our partners' love, a friends' love, self-love?"
When my friends got on a plane and travelled thousands of miles, were they completing the same journey some people make to the corner bar on Saturday night?
And secondly (referring back to my own story of the girl refusing to admit to travel as the means to the end being love), are we, in our daily lives motivated by love?

When you put on make-up or that certain shirt, when you clean the kitchen or do the laundry. when you go to work and ride the bus home, is that because of love?

I know my father will be proud of me if I do a lot of exercise.
I know my husband will like it if the house is tidy.
I know my co-workers will smile if I make this funny comment about a student.

Is a world without love a world without motivation?

I am trying to imagine a place where there is no one (not even myself) that I really want to please. There is no one to whom I ask what they think of this shirt or what they might like to eat for dinner. I don't really have to take a shower or keep myself healthy. I just have to procreate.

Ah, perhaps I would be a tick. A tick lives only to feed and reproduce and then dies. I would be a part of a species that others consider a nuisance and a problem. I would be small and nearly invisible until you felt me leeching off of you, and by that time it wouldn't matter anymore because I would have already injected my babies into your skin.

So what have we learned from this post (if anything)?

What separates us from ticks is that we want our friends and family members to think we are both clean and responsible, and we call this mutual agreement "love."

break time

I hate my job today. I hate my job, and it's the middle of the day. I'm at home on my break, but I have to go back and glorified babysit for another three hours. I have to go back and force the children into making an ant from egg carton.

I hate my job today because a new mother has come to the school with her twins so my assistant was pulled out of class to play with them. Doesn't this lady realize it's April now? It's too late for school. The best part of it is that I know the mother was in the office watching on the screen. (That's right there are cameras in every class room.) I know the new mother saw me in the class getting annoyed while the children ran around doing whatever they wanted. I know she saw me unable to control them, and I know my boss saw it, too.

I hate my job today because I no longer care to control them. Each one of them has their own little agenda and motive, and today it does not coincide with mine. They get mad at each other, and they make up lies like "Ipek stepped on my foot," or "Pars spit on me," or "Efe pushed me," in order to get their way.

I hate my job today because I no longer have the motivation to fix the problems in my class. Sometimes I don't know if they can be fixed. Is taking stickers away or sitting a kid in a corner going to stop the fact that he is overly aggressive and gets whatever he wants at home?
Maybe I'm just burnt out.

I was feeling more energetic, better about the situation after coming back from the holiday in the Balkans, but now I feel myself slipping back into that unhappy rut. I feel the anger and impatience bubbling up inside me. I don't want to explode on a child when it's not her or his fault that I feel the way I do. It isn't fair to them to have a teacher who doesn't care.

I keep telling myself that after this job, I am going to do something different. I won't have to force children into painting, coloring, cutting, sitting still. I won't have to deal with a boss whose number one goal is to keep parents content regardless of how much ass one has to kiss.

Yet when I look at all this from a broader perspective I realize that any job comes with a certain amount of problems. No matter what position I take, there will be things with which I don't want to deal or people whom I dislike. When I take that new job and something gets to me, will I also want to quit? Will I go inside myself and start thinking about everything that's wrong with the place while feeling sorry for myself?

I guess that starting down a new career path will require a lot of research and a lot of soul searching. If I really want a satisfying, fulfilling job that will make me excited to go to work in the morning and leave me with a positive outlook as I head for home, I have to know myself. I have to know what truly fulfills me. What are the pieces that make up a truly satsifying day for me? What are the pieces that make up a truly satisfying day for you?

international women

Ah, the clock strikes 5:27 pm. Liz and I count this as close enough to 5:30, and we grab our bags shouting a quick "Good-bye!" to anyone within range of our voices. Yes, my friends it is Friday, and we are headed home.
I drop Liz off at her apartment and drive towards 1507 Street. Friday means Levent isn't working, and it is the only week day where I do not have to think about what to cook for dinner. I just have to park the car a few streets away from the house because the Saturday market will be invading the next day and walk home.

The pizza is ready, and I can sit down and fill my stomach with no other thought except that I am putting delicious food into my body. I always leave Friday night open with absolutely no plans, no to-do list and no stress. Aaaah, a full stomach and a glass of freshly-brewed tea in my hand and I sit on the couch to soak it in.

Usually on Friday though, I am so wiped out from the week that I end up under the covers just after 8 pm trying to make myself stay awake by watching a movie. I know if I all asleep at half past nine, I will wake up at half past six, and I want to avoid this time of the day at all costs on a Saturday!

However, last night I was invited by Rebecca, an English lady who works at my school, to the monthly meeting of the International Women of Antalya at the North Shield bar. I couldn't really pass up the offer as the North Shield is about a three-minute walk from my apartment and it was supposed to be a book swap. I had a pile of books here at the house that I had been looking to get rid of so this was my opportunity to be social, have a drink, and maybe even get a new book.

At the bar, I met Rebecca who was trying to play Bridget Jones and introduce everyone with interesting facts. Therefore I met Fiona, another English woman whose daughter goes to my school, and Nuray, a Turkish lady raised in England who works at a hotel here in Antalya. Nuray was recently divorced and had the look of relief on her face one gets after narrow escape from certain doom. She spoke perfectly-accented British English while taking drags of her cigarette in between comments about being stuck in the middle of Western mentality in a Turkish body. I felt like having a drag myself and saying in a very goth tone of voice, "Yeah, totally," while swinging my dyed black hair out of my face.

Liz, Emily, and Danielle showed up as well, the usual suspects when beer and laughter are on the agenda. Rebecca entertained us with stories of her private student who is a pilot and apparently rather lonely. He showers her with offers to fly her to Hong Kong and Vienna while trying to help her with her coat in a manner of pure gentleman. Rebecca struggles to be polite but not allow any physical contact holding out her arm but cringing with the rest of her body.

I also got to meet Nita, an Indian woman born in Africa, raised in New York City and now living with her husband and daughter in Antalya, Turkey. What a random place to end up, I thought. She informed me that her husband works at one of the hotels here. Nita advised me to learn German and get a job in a hotel in guest relations if I wanted to change my job. Yeah, why not? :)

I spent a really fun night chatting to some incredibly interesting ladies, and I was once again (as I usually am) how much I enjoy the traveling life and the chance to meet people with such diverse stories.

the venture

The recent trip we took to the Balkans has gotten me thinking about the different ways one might approach a holiday abroad. How can you really make the most of your trip according to where you are going, the time of year, your own personality, how much time you have, etc.?
A few of these are usually easier to narrow down. For example, almost no one has an unlimited amount of time and resources on which to spend traveling. Let's say you have got eight days and nine hundred Euros (as we did). The time of the year is March. It is not beach weather yet winter has basically come to an end. Personality: Stephanie is the type of person who enjoys being on the move and getting as much done as possible in a given time period. However, Stephanie is also a person who would like to slow herself down, not just on holiday but in life. Remove the stress of constantly having to take on and complete the next task but at the same time see and take in everything you can.

During our excursion, we rented a car and moved a lot. We were able to see quite a few different places and spend time in three different countries in a short time period. I can't say I didn't enjoy having the freedom to pick up and get somewhere else with something new to appreciate. However, something inside was pinching me. It was asking if perhaps I wanted to slow down, spend two days here and really see the place instead of heading off leaving unknown stones unturned.
Before our departure Levent had expressed his desire to get to the three different countries, and I listened with reservations. I thought that we would never be able to do that in just over a week but nodded my head in compliance anyway thinking "we'll just see what happens when we get there."

A good part of the trip took place along the coast, but as it was March there was no real need to stop somewhere for a day of swimming in the sea. Other parts of the trip had us in centers of relatively large capital cities. We learned quickly on the first day that there is only so much walking you can do before your legs give up on you. This led me to believe that the car and the roads were the place for us physically, financially, and mentally.

Now when I look back on the eight days, I wish it could have been more. Don't we all? At the same time that I am glad we got to see all the places we did, I feel we should have spent more time. We should have taken more seats on public benches. We should have strolled around more museums. So on and so forth until the trip becomes a list of regrets instead of amazing sights?

Again though, go back to the personality we are dealing with - someone who dislikes sitting still, who wants to be on the move, who will get bored if given time to just sit. This fear of boredom that will not let me rest is something I want to change in myself. It does not want me to sit down and do nothing and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee like the Croatians and the Montenegrians. Perhaps I should make those four phrases my new mantra.

So what can we take away from this trip for the future? First, we must learn to enjoy the doing nothing, or at least not be afraid of it. Next, we must save more money to be able to afford longer trips. Then, in my opinion, we must allow ourselves at least two weeks per country (depending on the size, of course). Then, we must learn that some things must be sacrificed - money, time, compromise between traveling partners. Finally we must know that the venture will be nothing short of adventure.

Dubrovnik

Day 8 - Dubrovnik, Croatia

This was our last real day of the trip and the only day we had to really do nothing. We got up "late" at 7 am or so to a beautiful blue sky. We made a little breakfast with pastries, tomatoes and cucumbers almost like we have at home. Then, we walked as leisurely as possible down into the town. We moved slowly through the alleys and streets. We stopped for a coffee and some people-watching. We tried to get onto the city walls but decided against it when we found out it would cost 20 Euros for basically the same view we have from our hotel balcony.

We walked outside the city walls into the more rich area and into a little park that gave us a great view of the walls from the outside. After that we walked back in, had lunch at a very cute albeit somewhat expensive vegetarian restaurant with a sweet waitress. We stopped for another glass of tea and cup of coffee. I mean, we really embraced the sit down and do nothing and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes culture. All we did was walk slowly from this spot to that one to stop and take it all in - the fabulously dressed women, the old buildings and churches, the clock tower and the Adriatic Sea.

We came back to the hotel early for some more rest and preparation for the three flights we have to take tomorrow to get back to Antalya. Now we are ready to call it a day and a trip, for that matter.
Tomorrow we fly from Dubrovnik at 6:40 am and reach Zagreb at 7:40 am. Our flight to Istanbul is not until 2 pm so we'll have just a bit more time to soak in the city of Zagreb. We should finally reach home in Antalya around 10 pm on Sunday night. I have no idea how I am going to go back to work on Monday morning, but I will worry about that later, I suppose.

I hope you enjoyed Croatia, Bosnia, and Montenegro as much as we did! It will be nice to get home, but we will look forward to the next installment! Albania? Macedonia? Only time will tell...